


My Brother’s Keeper

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate reality where marriage is available only to a rare few, Sam Winchester is a rising star attorney who’s just met his Wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**My Brother's Keeper Masterpost**_  
 **Title:** My Brother’s Keeper  
 **Author:** nightrose_spn  
 **Pairings:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 23733  
 **Summary:** In an alternate reality where marriage is available only to a rare few, Sam Winchester is a rising star attorney who’s just met his Wife.  
 **Notes/Warnings:** Thanks to juvenine for the lovely art and to inhumanafterall for posting while I was out of town. My apologies for the posting troubles. And thank you to the mods for tolerating my posting troubles.

I clear my throat and straighten my tie. This is it. The most critical moment of my life.

I feel terrible, just terrible, for whatever poor girl is out there, waiting for me. She must be so afraid, with no idea what kind of man is coming for her, who she’ll be bound to for the rest of her life.

Well, I won’t hurt her. I may be the Husband, but I’m not interested in using that power for pain. I’m no monster, and she’ll learn that quickly enough. I imagine this first evening will be somewhat awkward, though.

I examine myself in the long mirror that lines the hallway. I look good in the crisp black suit, unadorned for the silver insignia of Legitimacy pinned to my chest. The simple silver star-in-circle shape makes all the difference between being me, having all the advantages in the world, or being the girl crouched naked and afraid in the far room. Or, worse, one of the starving Bastard masses not selected for Wedding, left to starve and fight among themselves in the wastelands outside the city.

The girl waiting in there is less fortunate. Only by doing this, by Wedding me, likely against her own will, can she gain the right to wear the star herself. Of course, her insignia (I have it in my pocket even know, to give it to her when we meet) will be just a star, not bound in the circle. It is an awkward middle ground the Wives tread, without the status of the Legitimates but bound by the social customs Bastards are free from.

She is almost surely the child of two Bastards, or a Bastard and a Legitimate. Two Legitimates (though such affairs are officially forbidden) would have access to birth control. Besides, they would have Wives to go home to. Well, the older ones, anyway. Those with established careers. I’m almost there. I haven’t won the interest of the State yet, though, so my boss had to fight for ages to get me the contract for tonight.

Nominally, it’s a reward for my victory in the Tawlon case, but in reality it has more to do with the fact that he wants to be able to bring me to parties. I need a Wife for respectability, and Mr. Wiles needs someone who can make polite conversation in formal social situations. He’s a good man, but not a tactful one.

Though I have no desire to keep some poor girl as my Wife, all but a slave, I need the status of being Wed to advance my career. After all, if I’m ever going to get a government job, to really change things around here, it’ll be a necessity.

Mr. Wilds, my superior, strides through the black drapery separating this antechamber from the main hall. His arrival breaks me from my thoughts of logic and politics. His Wife drops to her knees behind him as he pauses in front of me. “You ready, son?” he asks with a smile.

Soft organ music wafts through from the far room. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, I think you’ll like what I picked out for you.” I try to focus on the elegant chamber, black walls covered with dripping silver filigree, rather than his words. “Remember, just enjoy yourself.”

I keep my voice formal. “Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how much all of this means to me.”

He claps me on the back hard enough that my knees start to buckle. “Hell, every young man needs his big break, right? You’re a good kid, Winchester. You deserve a head start.”

I force myself to smile.

Then, suddenly, the curtains are drawn back. Instead of the dark waiting room, I am blinded by the Wedding Hall, walls of polished silver, floor and ceiling delicate mirrored glass. The light shimmers from the many elaborate chandeliers, diamonds suspended from slender chains. The guests sit in ornate chairs, each carved with curving flowers and lines, while their Wives kneel at their feet. The priest awaits me in the front of the hall, dressed in black, a sober contrast to the finery of the guests.

I stare down the path, trying to focus on my reflection, rather than the black curtain behind the Priest, where my Wife awaits.

The murmuring crowd falls to a hush as I walk. The sound of my footsteps is deafening.

I finally reach the end of the hall, where the Priest is standing. She’s a slim young woman, dressed in all black as befits the ceremony, her insignia of Legitimacy prominent against the costume. She does not smile at me, her face as cold and formal as her dress. She’d be pretty, and I might ask to buy her a drink under other circumstances. Of course, high-ranking government officials like her would never break the rules against relationships outside of Weddings.

I think, fleetingly, of my own foray into forbidden love. Jessica had been the perfect match for me. Smart, ambitious, fun-loving. But she, like me, was looking for a home, a family, and a career in the future. That’s nothing two people of the same class can ever have together.

We’d gone our separate ways quite amiably and are still good friends. She’s here, one of the few single guests, and she winks at me as I walk past her.

It’s not enough to calm my nerves completely, but I appreciate the gesture.

The Priest clears her throat, and I step up my pace a little bit, not wanting to be publicly chastised. She looks like the kind of woman that would do it, too. I guess that’s how you get to be a Priest—doing exactly what you’re supposed to and looking down your elegant nose at everyone who doesn’t.

But this is not the time to indulge my rebellious thoughts. Today, I play the part of the perfect young man, the ideal citizen. I’ll be good at it—I certainly look the part, tall and (from all accounts) good-looking, with a charming smile that has won more than one court case in the past, dignified in my black suit.

I kneel, wordlessly, at the Priest’s feet. The crowd takes up a quiet, humming chant as I bow low.

She calls out my name. “Samuel Winchester.”

I bow again.

“Have you, on this day, brought the desire necessary to be Wedded under the law?”

“I have.”

“Have you, on this day, brought the paperwork necessary to be Wedded under the law?”

“I have.”

“Present them.”

I pull the heavy parchment paper out of my jacket pocket, each sealed with the thick imprint of a star-in-circle in gold wax.

She tears through the seals, reading the information easily before stamping them quickly with her own Insignia. She grants me the slightest of nods, the tiniest smidgen of approval.

“And have you, on this day, brought the payment necessary to be Wedded under the law?”

“I have,” Mr. Wilds interrupts, holding up the bag of coins.

“Step forward.”

She opens the bag, counting out each coin. My eyes widen. It’s over five hundred Marks, more money than most people see in their entire lives. She keeps careful track of every single one.

Finally, as I wait with bated breath… and then not so bated, as time wears on and my knees begin to ache… she announces the final figure. “Five hundred, precisely. It is sufficient.”

She hands me the small ceremonial knife and I tuck it in my pocket.

I wait for a moment, until she says, with a hint of friendly humor in her voice, “You can get up now, son.”

I blush. “Yes, ma’am.” I resist the urge to brush off my knees—I’m sure the floor is perfectly clean.

“The Consummation!” she announces, and everyone claps.

Dad looks uncomfortable, Jess snickers, but everyone else manages to keep a straight face. As I’ve been taught, I turn to the crowd and bow low, honoring them for their presence here as their murmured chant subsides, and then turning sharply on one heel and marching up to the curtain behind her. I part it swiftly, letting the velvet fall gracefully open.

Inside the cocooned space, surrounded by walls of night-black velvet, everything is silent and still. The only light falls directly on the silver table-like altar, the person on it exposed.

It’s a few feet away, but I squint and can tell that it’s a distinctly male body, the sharper lines and more prominent muscles.

I smile.

I prefer male lovers, but I would have thought Mr. Wilds more of a traditionalist than that. It’s a pleasant surprise.

I’m right beside him now, close enough to touch. Obviously, I won’t. I don’t want to frighten him. I drop to my knees as soundlessly as possible, so we’re on a level instead of me looming over him.

I take a breath, preparing myself, and then speak. I keep my voice gentle, inflectionless, as though I’m talking to a frightened animal.

“Hello. My name is Samuel Winchester. Sam. I’m your Husband. Can you please look up at me for a moment? I need to give you the Insignia.” I pull it out from my pocket, holding it out in my hand.

He raises his head slowly from the bowed position he’d been in, on all fours with his head towards the ground. He doesn’t lift it far, not making eye contact.

But it’s more than enough.

A beam of light falls onto his face, and I know, beyond a doubt, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who it is. Recognition is instant, undeniable, and almost painfully intense.

“Dean,” I whisper.

[ Chapter One  
](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/12894.html) [ Chapter Two  
](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13258.html) [ Chapter Three  
](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13511.html) [ Chapter Four  
](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13684.html) [ Chapter Five  
](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13964.html) [ Epilogue ](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/14295.html)


	2. My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 1

_  
**My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 1**   
_   


 

 

[Prologue](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/14543.html#cutid1)   


His voice is mild, but it’s undeniably him. I remember the sound of it, deep and gruff. It’s haunted my dreams for years. But the teasing lightness, the feeling of it… that’s gone.

“Are you quite well, my Lord?”

 My stomach turns.

 This is Dean. Beautiful, wonderful Dean, infinitely loving but sometimes so distant, brilliant but unwilling to show it, passionate and protective beyond belief. Dean who was my lover, my brother, my father, my best friend. Dean who was everything to me, Dean who I lost and thought to never, ever see again.

 My Dean.

 I think of the last time we were together, right before I’d left for school. If I’d said then that this moment would come, that he would be silent and submissive on his knees, spread out for my pleasure, he would have laughed, punched me on the shoulder, and said, “Sure, Sammy. You’re gonna own my ass one day. Where the fuck do you come up with these things?”

 The thought nearly makes me burst out into hysterical laughter.

“My Lord?”

 “Please don’t call me that.”

“Whatever Your Lordship pleases.”

I sigh. “That isn’t any better.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Slightly less disturbing. But only slightly. “Dean, do you recognize me?” I ask. I’m sure I won’t like the answer. But I have to know.

“You are my Husband, sir.”

“My name, Dean. Do you remember my name?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me,” I urge gently.

“That would be improper, sir.”

“But do you know… Dean, do you know who I am?”

There is a moment of hesitation, and then he begins, in a bland voice, “You are the Legitimate Heir of the House where I was fostered, sir.”

That’s the facts of it, the bare bones. But the reality is so much more. Years, years of being everything to each other, of him teaching me how to shoot a gun, me teaching him how to read even though it was forbidden, stealing kisses even though he was supposed to be completely untouched, a virgin, when they came for him.

I’d meant to fight, lay down my life if I had to. They weren’t supposed to get him. When they came for him, I’d meant to kill them all before they could take him away.

I hadn’t been there. I had been off at school, probably sitting in a café sipping a pretentious double-frothed latte and studying for Inheritance Law. I hadn’t thought about him in a few days, too busy fuming over the fight Dad and I had the day before I left. I hadn’t realized that his nineteenth birthday had arrived, that it was the day they would come for him.

I didn’t even remember. I can only pray that someday, when I’ve fixed the obvious damage they’ve done to him, when he’s my Dean again, that he’ll forgive me for it.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Dean?”

“Sir, they’re waiting for us.”

“Oh. Well, let’s go.”

He starts to shake. “Sir. We can’t. I can’t, sir.”

“Do you need something? What can I do?”

“We cannot go, sir. Not until you have Consummated the marriage. Unless…” he draws a raspy breath.

“I won’t.” I can’t imagine that. Our first time, that wonderful thing that was forbidden me for so very long, being like this, a brutal, loveless fuck on a cold altar. I’d dreamed of spreading him out on silk sheets, of kissing every inch of him, of watching him fall apart.

“Please.” A single tear drips down his face. “My Lord, please.”

“Why, Dean, why? Why would you want me to…”

“Have I so displeased you, sir? I thought you desired me, once. What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. I just…”

“Please. I can be what you need, my Lord. I’ll do anything. Only do this for me. I’m begging you.”

“Look at me, Dean.”

My voice is harsh and flat, a command. He doesn’t quite manage eye contact, but he at least looks up to my mouth.

  “Why do you want me to have sex with you?” I manage bluntly.

  “If the marriage is not Consummated, they shall know I was found unworthy, or that I am not a virgin. I shall be tried and, depending on the reason, beaten or raped until I am dead. My Lord.”

And all this in a flat monotone that shows no emotion at all. “Dean. Oh, Dean.” I sit beside him, head in my hands. “I can’t… I won’t let that happen to you, Dean. I will not. You have my word.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

I sob out a breath, reaching for him. “Are you… are you ready?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“They prepared you?” Unwanted, unknown hands, inside him, touching him, forcing him…

“I have been trained.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t do this to you.”

“Then. Please, my Lord. I would you would kill me yourself, rather than allow them to do it.”

“Dean,” I sigh. “No one will hurt you. Not them, not me, no one.”

“Please,” he whispers. “My Lord, I’m begging you.”

“I promise I won’t let any harm come to you, but I… I can’t.”

“Please, kill me,” he says, voice breaking. “You… you don’t understand what they’ll do to me. I’ve seen it. They make us watch, in training, to make sure that we don’t get any ideas… It’s brutal.” When I can’t answer, my throat too tight with horror, he continues. “I once thought you cared for me. If anything I ever did for you mattered, please. Kill me now.” He sees the hesitation in my face. Quietly, so quietly I can barely hear it, with the slightest edge of mockery, like he’s trying to piss me off so much I’ll do it, he whispers, “Please, Sammy.”

I gasp aloud. “No. No, I’ll never kill you. I’ll do what it takes. Tell me, how does one Consummate a marriage?”

“You must enter me until you find release.”

“That’s the only way?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And if I don’t, if we both say I did, how will they know?”

“They will check for blood on the sheets, my Lord. It’s something of a tradition. One posts them on one’s front doors the day after a Consummation.”

I frown. “Only women bleed their first time. And not even always then.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. “Trust me, my Lord. I will bleed.”

His meaning is suddenly clear. “I thought you said you’d been prepared.”

“I meant, sir, that I have been trained to offer pleasure. I apologize if I mislead you.”

“I’m supposed to take you like this? Without easing the way for you at all?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I… Dean, I don’t know if I can.”

“You must, please…”

“No. I mean…” Once upon a time, he would have mocked me for this for weeks on end. “I don’t think I will be able to remain aroused with you in that kind of pain.”

“I am… I have been told that I am desirable, my Lord. Do you not…”

“Oh, Dean. Don’t you remember? All those days we spent? I <i>ache</i> wanting you, but I won’t, I can’t, hurt you like this.”

His eyes brighten. “The knife, my Lord. They gave it to you in case you found me unworthy, did they not?”

“I… I didn’t know what it was for.” I thought it was another harmless ritual. And it was meant to take this most precious of lives?

“Use it.”

“I won’t kill you.”

“No. I mean…” He breathes in deeply. “If you cut me with it, we can fool them. I can give you pleasure another way, and we will complete the deception.”

“You’re a genius! I could kiss you.”

The words slip out thoughtlessly.

Dean, my Dean, would have grinned cockily, then pushed me flat against the bed, forcing his tongue between my lips. This new version only says, quietly, “Would that please you?”

I see the plaintive hope in his eyes. I can’t keep rejecting him.

And it would. Oh, how it would.

“Yes. C’mere,” I direct gently. He obediently moves, sitting on my lap.

He’s beautiful, so beautiful. I can hardly believe he’s real. I touch the side of his face, cupping his cheek in my palm, and lean forward to press my lips to his.

With the softest of moans, his lips part. I don’t take the chance, though. There’s time for that, when I’ve put him together, when he’s not so helplessly broken. Now it’s enough to just press our mouths together. His lips are warm and lush.

Yet he’s not kissing me back.

Sighing, I pull away. “Dean. Once upon a time, you wanted me, too. Don’t you anymore?”

“What I desire is unimportant, my Lord. Were I better, I should have none but the desire to please.”

I don’t know what to say in response to that. “It may be unimportant to you, Dean, but it’s very important to me. I want to know.”

He speaks very slowly. “Training is… difficult, my Lord. We are taught many things… and I did not wish to learn.”

I don’t want to know. It’s selfish, bordering on cruel, but I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want the intimate details of him being broken down, tortured into this compliance.

“At first, they did not understand why I was so resistant. Many others had been so at first, but… I lasted longer. And at last they learned how I could withstand them.”

“Because you’re wonderful.”

“No.” He laughs softly. “It was for you.”

“What?”

“When it… when it got to be too much, when I considered giving in, I would pretend it was you. That I was being made ready for you. I never thought there was a chance, but I used to dream that you were going to be my Husband.” He reaches forward, as though he’s going to take my hand, but then thinks better of it. “You were seven years of my hopeless dream, my lord. And you think I do not care for you?”

I’m almost glad to hear it, but it horrifies me. That’s how he held on. That’s how he kept going, stayed human and sane to send himself to new tortures. Because he loved me.

I almost wish he hadn’t.

A waft of sound from the crowd outside the door calls my attention back to the problem at hand.

“We should do it, Dean. We need to get out there.”

“Do you want—“

“No. Like you said, with the knife…”

He nods and holds out his arm.

I take the offered hand, raise it up, and press a kiss to the wrist. Then I slice the skin of my own palm open neatly, letting a few generous drops of blood fall onto the shining metal surface of the altar.

I don’t say it, because actions speak stronger than words. But hopefully, it’s the first step in his believing me. I would always rather hurt myself than him.

The cut doesn’t bleed for very long, and when it’s no longer dripping everywhere, I help Dean from his seat.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go meet our guests.”

He looks up at me with wide, unquestioning eyes, and nods exactly once. Something fierce and furious stirs in my chest. He’s so beautiful, so vulnerable. I want to protect him, I want to possess him. I also want him gone because I want my Dean back.

Well, I can only have one of those things.

I wrap a sheltering arm around his waist when he tries to fall behind me, to submissively walk a few paces back.

Mr. Wilds is grinning when we approach him. “Well, Sam? What do you think?”

I do my best to keep my face in a schooled expression of polite gratitude. “He’s wonderful, sir.”

“In high demand, too. I paid through the nose for this one. But I heard how you went on about him. Figured he must be important. I did all right, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t like boys myself, but he’s a good-looking specimen.”

I can hardly stand the way he’s talking about Dean, my Dean, as though he isn’t even here. “Thank you very much for the… for your help, sir.”

“Oh, go on. Enjoy your party.”

I smile, only too happy to slip away.

Deliberately avoiding the well-wishers, I skirt the edges of the room. Jess is loitering there. She doesn’t turn to me, staring out into the crowd, but she speaks in a quiet voice. “So this is my competition.”

I laugh. “This is Dean.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Your Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. In that case, I won’t even try to compete.” She still doesn’t look at me, but she gives Dean that thousand-watt grin. I’m the tiniest bit jealous, which I’m sure was the point. Our breakup was mutual, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to stroll around with any pretty young thing on my arm. “Congratulations, Sam.”

“Thank you.”

“Take note, Sam. I am genuinely happy for you. See how mature I can be?”

“I’m very impressed, Jessica.”

“Don’t ‘Jessica’ me.” She winks at me. “Can I steal a dance?”

“Later, I promise. I want to go with Dean first, but I’ll leave you a slot on my dance card.”

“Awesome. You boys have fun.” She darts forward to kiss my cheek.

As I lead Dean away, he says quietly, “Is she your lover?”

“No. We… we were, a while ago.” I turn to face him, pressing a hand against his cheek. “But we stopped. We knew it could never come to anything, and I wasn’t going to cheat on my Wife. Even before I knew it was you.”

He smiles, tentatively, slowly, with a kind of sweetness I’ve never seen before. The precious moment is broken by the opening chords of a slow waltz.

“May I have this dance?” I ask quietly, and he nods.

We take the center of the floor, the surface polished-smooth under our shoes. He’s wearing simple black slippers to match the delicate silk garment that drapes over his body. I wrap my hands around his waist, and he cautiously rests his on my shoulders. I let him set the distance, determine how much touch he is comfortable with. After a few seconds of awkward swaying, he pulls me in closer, so our bodies are touching.

It’s intoxicating.

The light is dim, casting highlights and shadow on the shimmering silk he wears. His eyes are unbelievably wide, almost innocent. I’d forgotten how long his eyelashes were, just how many freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, the way his hair was still a bit blonde underneath from when he was a child. I hadn’t forgotten the green of his eyes, or the way he looked at me sometimes like I was the entire world narrowed down into one convenient package for him to look after and love.

That hasn’t changed.

The music is a thrum in the background, loud enough that it drowns out conversation but essentially a meaningless white noise. His hips sway, slow, captivating.

I can’t look away from him. I can’t believe that he’s here, in my arms, with me.

He’s not my Dean anymore, not quite, but he’s mine nonetheless, and I’m going to take care of him. Like he did for me when we were children.

He’s all that matters to me, after all.

I barely hear it when the song ends, but Dean sighs and pulls away. “Would you like to dance with the lady?” he asks.

I’m torn. I don’t want to let him leave my arms, but Jess is a good friend. I’d like a little time with her before I leave.

“Yeah. Why don’t you go sit down right over there?” The head table is right next to the dance floor, so I’ll be able to keep a careful eye on him.

I pull out his chair for him and smile as I walk away. He doesn’t return the expression, just watches me with those huge, empty eyes.

Jess notices my discomfort. As soon as we’re out on the floor, where no one can hear us talking because of the music, she says, “Are you all right?”

And because I’ve never been able to lie to her, the truth spills out. “He’s just… he’s just so different. Dean was… he was… practically my older brother. He was the strong one. He looked after me. And now… he’s changed so much.”

Her hands lace through mine, pulling me into the simple step of a formal dance. It’s an effortless backdrop to the conversation. “What did you expect?”

             “I expected to never see him again.”

             “So isn’t this better?”

             “For me.” I hesitate, then, “He’s so afraid, Jess. So broken. I know they’ve hurt him, turned him into something and yet… I still want him. The same way I did when we… when I left him. And that can’t help him or be good for him. It can only hurt him more.”

             She sighs, “Sam.”

             “What?”

             “Give yourself some credit, sweetheart.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “That boy could have it so much worse. You could be an old creep like Wilds or a fuckin’ sadist like my boss or an asshole like your dad. And you’re not. You’re a smart, sweet, reasonably good looking young man who loves him and wants to help him. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

             “Well…” 

            “It’ll be fine, Sam. Trust me on this one.” She grins at me, then pirouettes right out of the dance step and away from me. 

            I shake my head, smiling, and mosey back over to the table. 

            The first thing I notice is the way Dean is trembling. The second thing I notice is that my father is way too close to him for my comfort. 

            “What’s going on here? Dad?” 

            “This is wrong,” he mutters. “This is very, very wrong.” 

            I ignore him. “You’re scaring Dean.” 

            “I… oh.” He finally seems to notice his surroundings and what’s going on. “Oh.” 

            “What’s up with you?”            “I. There was. I was. I left a hunt to come here. A rough one. I’m just worried that…”

             I sigh. Of course. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. Go save the kindergarteners from being a werewolf’s lunch or whatever.” Well, I must say I’m flattered that for once some event in my life was more important than my dad’s job.

             Still not more important than Dean, though.

             “Sam…”

             “No, really. I’m fine.” It’s physically hard to smile, but I manage.

             “All right. And, uh, congratulations, son.”

             “Thank you.”

             I want to bitch him out, to scream at him, demand why he let them take Dean away, why they let this happen.

             I don’t.

             I let him walk slowly away and carefully touch Dean’s still-trembling hand. “Do you want to go, Dean? You look shook up.”

             “I wouldn’t want to be any trouble, my Lord…”

            “None at all. C’mon. Let’s go.” I help him to his feet, guiding him out of the crowded reception hall, up the gilded staircase, and to the door of our room. It’s heavy wood, something of an effort to open. 

            It’s a tradition to stay in a governmental suite the first night of a Wedding. I was prepared for the opulence of every gilded, gleaming surface. 

            I was not prepared for only one bed. I don’t know why not, but it comes as a shock.

             Dean is already removing his robe.

             “Stop it,” I say, my voice gentle. “Dean, I don’t want that.”

             “My Lord…” 

            “Or that. I asked you to call me by my name.” 

            His eyes go impossibly wider with unmistakable fear, and I sigh. 

            “Okay. Shh, it’s okay. We’ll give it time. Right now we need to rest, Dean.” 

            “Shall I sleep on the floor, my Lord?’ 

            “Of course not.” I take a moment, then say, “We can share the bed, or I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

            “I’m quite used to-“ 

            “I know. And I don’t care.” It’s hard for me to figure out how to make him believe this. “I’m not them, Dean. I’m not those people who tortured you. I’m not going to treat you the way they did.” 

            “What would you prefer, my Lord?” 

            His pragmatic answer is almost a disappointment. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable but… I’ve missed holding you,” I admit. 

            “Then it would be my pleasure, my Lord, to share your bed.” 

            I smile at him. “C’mere, then.” 

            After just a second of fear and hesitation, he walks to the bed, his step silent and graceful, and lies against the sheets, black on white. He’s so beautiful. A very small part of me aches to take him, to ravish him right here. 

            I repress that thought brutally as I curl up beside him, throwing a sheltering arm over his body. “G’night, Dean.” 

            I try not to think about the absolute bewilderment in his eyes as I pull him close, holding him tight. 

[ Chapter Two](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13258.html)   



	3. My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 2

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**My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 2**   
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[Chapter One](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/12894.html)

  


            When I wake up, he hasn’t moved. He’s still peacefully asleep- I’ve always been an early riser, and I guess they didn’t find it necessary to program a set time for him to wake up during those years of agonizing, inhuman mistreatment.

             I try not to think about that, about those horrible things. Instead I watch Dean sleep. He looks so impossibly young, though he’s four years my senior, as he sleeps peacefully. I can’t see any of his fear, his pain, as he snores softly, his lips parted only slightly.

             After a few minutes, I reluctantly pull myself from bed, ringing the bell just outside the door to summon the nearest server. Most people keep a few Bastards on retainer to cook, clean, and such, but here in the government offices, even the highest-born people are willing to do that kind of menial labor to get in the good graces of whatever politician is in power this week.

             A pretty young girl comes when I ring, and sure enough the Insignia is hung proudly around her neck. “Can I get you something, sir?”

             “Just breakfast for me and my Wife. Whatever you’ve got that’s best.”

             She smiles. “Coming right up.”

             I step back into the room, unwilling to leave Dean alone for however short a time it will take for the food to arrive. The tray of breakfast—hot coffee, grits and bacon, fried eggs—gets there before he wakes up, but the rich smell of the food seems to rouse him.

             He always did think with his stomach.

             Eyes fluttering open, he slurs something that sounds like, “S’m’eh…”

             “Dean?”

             Abruptly, he freezes, then sits up straight. “My Lord.”

             Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. It was him for a moment there, vulnerable but undoubtedly himself. I shouldn’t have rushed it. I should have thought to be gentle, to ease him into it. “D’you want something to eat?”

             “Yes, my Lord.”

             I sigh heavily, handing him a plate and a fork. “I’ll put your coffee on the end table here.”

             His eyes light up. “Coffee?” Then, realizing how naturally he’s responded, without the formulaic politeness, fear flits across his face.

             “Yep. Strong and black, from the looks of it.”

             Greedily, he reaches for the cup. The moan that escapes from his mouth at the first sip is positively pornographic. “Shit. This is good.”

             I smile. Who would have thought that a cup of coffee could do so very much good?

             “I haven’t had a cup of coffee in years. Not since…”

             “Since they took you away?”

             He nods, his previous loquaciousness evaporating.

             “Will you tell me about it, Dean? About what they did to you?” 

            “I will do whatever you ask of me, my Lord.” 

            I sigh. “No. I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m asking for you to be honest with me, to open up to me, and that’s not something I can force.” If I were ever planning to force anything from him, ever. 

            “I don’t…” 

            “Is it a secret, Dean? Are you afraid to tell me?” 

            “No, my Lord. It is… it is not secret. But I am… I am afraid.” 

            “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.” 

            “I do not require such care, my Lord.” 

            I sit on the bed next to him. “Dean. Listen to me. I know you’ve had this… this propaganda drilled into your head. That you’re not… that you’re less than me. And I don’t believe that.” 

            “You are my Husband, my Lord. I belong to you.” 

            “In a strict, legal sense. But don’t you remember? We used to belong to each other.” He’s turned away from me, and I softly rub a hand over the surface of his back. “We promised we’d be together in the end, no matter what. Didn’t work out quite the way we’d expected, did we? But it did.” 

            “I guess so.” 

            He turns back onto his back, settling his food in his lap again, and grants me the briefest and brightest of smiles before digging back in to his breakfast.

             I eat my own, then pack up the overnight bag I’d brought to the room. “I think it’s time for us to go home.”

             He nods. “May I help with anything, my Lord?”

             “Nah, it’s all right.” I’m sickened at the thought that he does not have a single possession to his name. That’s going to change, though. “It’s just the one bag. C’mon.”

             My car is waiting for us downstairs. Well, our car.

             Dean’s eyes widen in delight. “The Impala?”

             “Yeah. Dad’s got some new truck he likes, and I get to drive this.”

             “My baby.” For a second I think he’s talking about me, and then he literally hugs the car, flinging his arms around it. “I missed her.”

             “Looks like it.” I’m almost amused at the display of feeling, but it touches me as well, quite deeply. I can see that he recognizes some part of our old life, that he’s still able to treat something, even if it’s just his car, the way he used to.

             It gives me hope.

             “C’mon.”

             “My Lord?”

             “Yeah?”

             “May I… may I drive?”

             It’s definitely illegal to let him behind the wheel, but it never stopped us before. “Absolutely.”

             It’s not long before we’re blazing down the freeway, classic rock blaring from the perfectly maintained speakers, the familiar hum of the car beneath me. Dean’s shy, tentative smile has been replaced by his cocky grin of yore.

             The ride home can’t be long enough.

             We reach my home city by lunchtime, pulling in through the wrought-steel gates of my estate. A house is a lot less expensive than a Wife, and I had this brick mansion built for me early on in my career. I wanted somewhere to come home to after a hunter’s childhood.

             My father’s profession is quite highly honored by the government, but it didn’t exactly offer a great deal of comfort or peace for us growing up. I’ve done my best to replicate that. I have a stable career, a beautiful home, and enough money that I could retire tomorrow and not have to worry.

             On second thought, I just might do that. After all, I have Dean to care for. There’s every chance he might need more than I can provide if I’m working full-time. Still, I have all of the honeymoon period to determine that.

             “C’mon in.” I guide him up the steps, knocking twice on the front door. Susanne, my maid, opens the door. “So. This is home.”

             Dean takes it all in, eyes greedy, drinking in the windows, the elegant chandelier, with particular vehemence.

             I wonder how long they kept him in the dark.

             “Do you want to see your room?”

             He nods.

             There’s another staircase, not particularly sweeping (I had to make concessions to practicality) to get there. “Here’s where I sleep,” I point to the door. “You’ll be right next to me. Come get me any time you want me.”

             “I am not to share your bed?”

             “I thought it would be better…” There’s unmistakable hurt in his eyes. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

             “If I am not permitted to share your bed, I am undesirable. I have failed in my duties.” His eyes are downcast.

             “Dean, listen.” I have to get better at this. I can’t keep making him feel like this, like he’s done something wrong. “I just want to help. To make this as easy as I possibly can. I didn’t mean… Look. You are infinitely desirable, okay? I practically want to rip your clothes off right here. And the only duty I want you to fulfill is being happy. I’m not going to… you know. I’m not going to fuck you. Because it would hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt you.” I hope to hell I’m not making this worse.

             His response, a blank stare, gives me very little to work off of. 

            “I can move your stuff into my room. The bed is plenty big enough for the two of us. It’s okay.” I open the door, showing him. “All right?” 

            “Thank you, my Lord.” 

            “Stop that,” I demand quietly. “Don’t call me that.” 

            “I can’t…” 

            “Please.” This is a low trick but no amount of shame is going to stop me. “Don’t you want to make me happy?” 

            I instantly regret trying to manipulate him like that—even before he flies into a blind panic. His arms flail out, lashing blindly at me, and he bolts, running as fast as I can. I grab him. “Dean!” 

 He goes completely still, squeezing his eyes shut, not even breathing. It’s like he’s trying to hide, hoping I won’t notice him if he is motionless and silent. 

I hug him close, wrapping him in my arms, rubbing his back carefully. He doesn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry. Look at me. Shh. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s going to be all right.” 

“No…” he whimpers. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s okay.” 

A moment passes. After that, he slowly, carefully straightens up, not pulling away from where I’m touching him, but seeming to indicate that he doesn’t need it. Still, his voice is very, very small. “Are you mad at me?” 

“Oh, Dean.” My heart feels like it’s breaking in my chest. “No. No, I’m not angry. I’d never be mad at you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. And you can call me whatever you want, do whatever you want. That won’t change it. I won’t hurt you. I won’t be mad at you.” 

He smiles, sweet and gentle, turning to nuzzle against my shoulder. I stroke his hair gently, petting the short strands. 

“That’s it, Dean. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

When he’s calm, we spend the day getting him settled in. I show him the kitchens, the library, the study where I work, the beautiful gardens outside. 

He delights in it. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s been allowed to feel the sun on his skin. He’s so deathly pale. 

“Your home is lovely, my Lord.”

  “Our home.”

 There’s something sad in his face when he smiles at me.

  “What is it?”

  “My Lord, I do not even own myself, let alone a half-share in your property. I am an ornament to what you possess, not an owner of it.”

 I don’t let myself get angry. I know what that would do to him. “Don’t think like that, Dean. I want you to be happy here. You belong here, with me, but you don’t belong to me. It doesn’t matter what they said to you, what they did to you. You are a person just like me. I want you to realize that. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

  “My Lord…”

  “Please,” I whisper. “Please call me by my name.”

  “No,” he whimpers. “No, I can’t…”

  “Do you really think I’ll hurt you?”

  “No, but it’s…” He trails off.

  “What?”

  “It’s wrong.”

 That’s when it hits me, like a punch to the gut. He isn’t just afraid of the torture he’d suffered at their hands. He isn’t just reacting to the threat of pain. In the years he’d spent being broken down and conditioned to obey, he has come to believe it. He thinks I am somehow superior to him. He thinks of himself as little more than my slave.

 The thought is horrifying, heartbreaking, but on some deep level I’m glad I know. After all, the more I know, the more I can help him. The more I learn about the time we spent apart, the closer I can come to fixing it.

 I’m going to fix it. I’m going to put him back together, piece by piece. I don’t care how long it takes but he’s going to get better. Someday, he’s going to look at me with recognition, call me “Sammy” and ruffle my hair, put Nair in my shampoo and hum Metallica like it’s a lullaby.

 Someday.

 But for right now, I’m not going to press the issue. I settle him beside me, and after a second’s hesitation he lays his head on my shoulder. I smile at him.

  “Is this all right, my Lord?”

  “Yeah.” I take his hand, squeezing gently for reassurance. We sit together, silently, for most of the afternoon, just enjoying the gentle heat of the sun and being together.

 Without words, and if I don’t turn to see the way he’s starved thin and ghostly white, it feels like it was before. It feels right.

 I’ve missed him so much.

 We eat dinner in the small dining room I usually use, rather than the huge formal dining hall where I entertain clients and coworkers every few months. The space is cozier, and for the first time I notice it could nearly be considered romantic, especially with the flickering candles the maid places on the table. I only have one servant in the house. More than that seems unnecessary. Her name is Susanne, and she’s a smart, vivacious Bastard looking for a way out of the slums.

 If the world were different, I’d be worried that she’d take my job.

 Or Dean, for that matter, given the unsubtle admiration in her eyes as she hands him his plate.

 Still, her cooking is good enough that I can forgive her. Dean seems slightly uncomfortable with her attentions, a reaction I’ve never seen him have to a pretty girl before. I refuse to let myself be glad of that.

 He eats quietly, polite, neat little bites that are the opposite of his usual slovenly gobbles. He even dabs at his mouth with a napkin.

 I almost feel the urge to laugh. It’s so… unlike him.

 But he’s not a different person. Just my Dean hidden under a strange, unfamiliar mask. I won’t think otherwise for even a second.

 His eyes light up at the sight of the chocolate chip cookies coming out of the oven, but then he says, “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I need to maintain my weight.”

  “You’re so skinny! I’m worried,” I tease lightly.

  “Would you like me to try to gain weight?”

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to tell you what to eat or what to do.”

 There is silence for a while, an awkward pause in the conversation. Then he says, finally, “Well, in that case I’ll have a cookie.”

 I grin. “Susanne, do you want to join us?”

  “Yeah, thank you.”

 Dean doesn’t seem to be quite comfortable with her here, but I’d say that’s more because of my interfering with the power dynamic he thinks should be set up rather than anything particularly having to do with her.

 Just to show him that I don’t believe that she’s anything less than me, that he’s not my equal, my partner in everything simply because of who his parents were, I stay to help wash up from dinner. He stands awkwardly to one side, like he can’t decide whether or not he’s supposed to help.

  “You can dry,” Susanne says with a nonchalant easiness, tossing him a towel. He takes it, grateful to know what to do, and does the task at hand thoroughly and silently.

 Susanne throws me an occasional worried or sympathetic glance, but doesn’t comment on it. Of course not.

 I have to deal with this all on my own.

 A thought occurs to me as I’m elbow-deep in soap suds. If I can find out how he was broken, maybe I can reverse the process and put him back together.

 Of course, I can’t force him to tell me. But he will, after a while. I’ll get his trust. I’m sure I will.

 When the dishes are washed, Susanne waves me away from helping wash the countertops. “You boys go to bed. I’ll finish up.”

 I shoot her a desperate look. I don’t want to have to have this conversation again, and I’m fairly certain that Dean isn’t going to calmly accept “Yes, we’re sharing a bed. No, we’re not having sex.”

 Still, I guess it’s my problem. I need to be able to deal with this.

 I feel so far out of my depth. I wish I had been the one taken away, hurt like this. Not just because I’d rather spare Dean the pain, not just because he matters so much to me, but because he’d know what to do. He’d be able to fix me, and I don’t know how. He’s the one who has amply proven he knows how to take care of me. He’s the one who was always secure and self-contained. He’s the one who remembered how to live without me.

 I don’t know how to do any of that. 

As far back as I can remember, I had Dean to watch over me. I was an adult by the time I had to live without him.

 I don’t know how to do this, but I don’t have much of a choice.

 At least we have everything else going for us. Financially, I’m stable. I don’t have to worry about the house or having food prepared. We’re legally together, too, in the only way we ever could be. My only responsibility is taking care of him.

 So why can’t I bring myself to do it? Why can’t I buckle down and accept the fact that this is life now?

 I should be happy to have him back. I shouldn’t be afraid.

  “My Lord? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

 He nods obediently. “Should I prepare myself for your pleasure, my Lord?”

 I knew it was coming. That doesn’t make it easier to here. “No. Just get ready for bed. To sleep,” I clarify.

 He strips down to the boxers I’d leant him this morning when I’d discovered he didn’t even have any clothes, just the silk robe. “My Lord?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would it be forward of me to ask permission to sleep in your arms again?”

 I grin. “Not at all. In fact, it would be wonderful.”

  “Then… then I would like it, very much, if you would allow me to do so.”

  “I’d like that too. C’mere.”

 He eases himself into the bed, falling asleep on my shoulder. I stay up after him, unwilling to let him be conscious a moment that I’m not looking after him.

 He sleeps soundly through that night. The next day, I decide it’s time for him to have some things of his own. We go to the little shopping mall just up the street. It’s a rather utilitarian, pragmatic adventure in shopping. We pick up jeans, T-shirts, boxers. A few CDs I know he’d like. He refuses to ask for anything in particular, answering all my questions with a polite, “Whatever you prefer, my Lord,” or “I have no opinion, my Lord.”

 I don’t like the way stranger’s eyes follow him, trailing up and down his body like he’s a piece of meat, something delicious to simply be devoured.

 He’s so much more, but just looking at him, especially now, they have no way of seeing that incredible, wonderful person hidden inside the pretty package.

 I’m all too eager to get home, but he seems to want to stay for a while, so we get a burger and fries from the food court for lunch. It reminds me of all too many diner meals in my childhood. Tastes the same, too, grease and salt.

 I’d tried to imitate that, in the days after Dean had been taken away. I’d missed him so much that I’d gone around trying to recapture any part of our childhood. It had been so empty, so painful. I’d started walking rather than taking the Impala, eating green salads rather than junk food, listening to acoustic indie rock rather than the rock that reminded me of Dean.

 I was one pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a romantic comedy away from being a fifteen year old girl after her first ever breakup. It was really kind of pitiful.

 But now we’re together, and he’s laughing. Almost just like it used to be. It makes up for all of those times alone.

 If it’s not quite the same, it’s enough.

 Things get better.

 It’s a slow process, but I know it would be. He seems so surprised that I let him do this, that he’s allowed to go outside if he wants to, to sleep late if he wants to, to eat what he wants when he wants.

 But he gets used to it. He always was a free spirit, and he seems perfectly ready to adapt back into it. Sometimes, he’ll come to me and ask for me to tell him what to do, to help him through the day. I usually just ask him to sit with me, to talk to me.

 Weeks pass like that, and then one day, he finally says, “My Lord?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “Did you want to hear about… about…”

 I nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “It might be hard for me,” he cautions.

  “I know.”

  “You won’t get angry if I have to stop?”

 It seems almost like he’s daring me, like he’s trying to get me to snap at him, to break my promises. But sooner or later he’s going to figure out that I won’t, that he’s safe. I’m sure of it.

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

 He seems unsure how to start. “Just a little for now. Tell me about the day they took you away.”

 Gradually, over a few hours, I get the story from him. Dad wins some credit back. They’d waited until he was out of town on some hunt before coming to take Dean away. The two of them had split up to be more efficient. Not brilliant on Dad’s part, but not the horror of giving Dean away, which is what I had come to believe.

 It had taken twenty special government officials to subdue him. They’d bound him hand and foot, tranquilized him, and dragged him into a car.

  “That’s the last thing I remember,” he says, almost apologetically.

  “Of the whole seven years?”

 He shakes his head. “No. Of the trip there.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” I say gently. “I really do… it means a lot to me.”

  “I… I… Thank you, my Lord. And I’m…” he trails off suddenly.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be… the Dean you remember. I know you miss him. And I know it would please you if… but I can’t.”

 I sigh. “I know. I don’t blame you. And it doesn’t change anything. I love you no matter who you are.”

  “You love me?” he asks.

  “Of course.” I don’t hesitate to say it. After all, there was a time we exchanged those words every day before he tucked me into bed and went to his own, at least until Dad was asleep and he could sneak back over to snuggle with me.

 Things have changed, but they haven’t changed that much. They’ll never change this.

  “I never…” he’s choking on the words, but I decide not to press him. I don’t want to force him to respond in any particular way. “I don’t… They taught me so much. How to stand, how to kneel, how to think. They didn’t teach me what to say to this.”

  “Dean.” I cradle his head in my hands, his face pressed firmly against my shoulder. “Dean, there’s not anything you’re supposed to say. I just wanted to make you happy. You don’t have to say anything.”

“My Lord.” He pulls away from my shoulder, looking at me. “I love you too.” 

I feel like I’m choking on my tears, my love for him boiling up in my throat. I can hardly believe he’s said the words. I didn’t expect him to return the sentiment so easily. I thought he’d be uncomfortable at first, maybe glad after the initial reaction. I didn’t expect this. 

“May I ask for something?” 

“Anything.” 

“I would like it if you would… if you would kiss me.” 

I groan low in my throat. Part of my brain is thinking about his progress, about how wonderful it is that he’s self-actualizing, that he’s expressing his feelings and saying what he wants aloud. 

Most of me is consumed with desire. 

I pull him close, framing his face with my hands, leaning in to take his lips. This time, unlike that first kiss, he’s all too eager to return it. His mouth is warm and sweet and hungry. I’m very close to losing control, to starting to tug at his clothes, letting my hands wander up and down his body, caressing all the remembered sensitive places in his body. 

I could never take him before. Not really. He knew he had to be a virgin when he was taken away, as much as I insisted I’d never let that happen to him. I guess it’s a good thing he insisted. At the time, though, it was practically torture to have to hold ourselves back, limited to fumbled handjobs and me sucking him off. 

And I won’t rush it. Maybe someday we’ll be back to that, innocence, happiness, but this time with no one to tell us we have to hold back. 

Maybe. 

At present, I’m content to just kiss him. I draw back for air after a few minutes, steadying my head, fighting back against the fierce arousal, before letting myself go in for another kiss. 

This time, it’s gentle. I barely brush my lips against his. I mean to keep it gentle, chaste… and then I feel the cautious swipe of his tongue against my lower lip. That sends me right back into a desperate frenzy of need for him. I can’t help diving in for another true kiss, our mouths colliding hungrily. 

“Missed you, missed this,” I hear myself saying. 

I’m breathing heavily by the time I bring myself to let go of him. He pants, unrestrained, against my neck. His breath is warm, teasing. I want to have him right here, or take him up to the bed, make it so good, so gentle, that it won’t even feel like… 

Rape. 

Because that’s what it would be. 

He can’t consent. Not when he thinks he has no right to say no to me over going outside for a walk or eating lunch at home instead of at a restaurant. 

Having sex is so much more than that. And he’ll really be here by the time that happens. It’ll be Dean, completely, looking out at me with eyes that understand, that recognize me. He’ll be himself again, and he’ll know what he’s saying when he insists he wants it as much as I do. 

And I am stronger than the part of me that’s shouting at the top of its frustrated, horny lungs that he’s here, he’s beautiful, he’s all mine and no force, legal or otherwise, would ever try to stop me. 

Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’m very sure of that. 

His lips are red from the kisses, his eyes even bigger than usual. He looks exquisite. But instead of letting my fingers wander across his swollen mouth, letting him suck the tips into that wet heat, I pull back. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

I laugh. “Dean, believe me when I say we can do that absolutely any time you’d like.” 

He grins. “Really?” 

“Yes. Absolutely. Just say the word, and… I’m babbling, aren’t I?” 

“Just a bit.” 

The smile stays firmly planted on his kiss-red lips for hours. 

After that, he starts to accept my comfort when I offer it. He has nightmares sometimes, wakes screaming in my arms, and I soothe him, pet him back to sleep. Sometimes he tells me what they were about. 

He talks about the first weeks—absolute isolation. He’d been alone in the darkness, no one to talk to, unable to see anything at all. He’d come to rely on touch, his hands scraping painfully on the rough concrete floor and walls, the warmth of his knees huddled against his chest. “It was the simplest things I did, the little things that kept me sane. But it was a close call at some points.” 

He has no idea how long he was in there, but it was enough time that he could barely see when they’d let him out. His vision is still somewhat limited and blurred because of that experience. I resolve to take him to an optometrist as soon as possible. 

His first reentry into the “real world” was being thrown to his knees in front of a strange man whose face was masked. Dean was ordered to lick the man’s boots clean. 

So he’d spit on them, stood up, and walked away. 

He recounts this story of rebellion with some fear, like he thinks it will make me furious at him. 

I couldn’t be prouder of him. 

He doesn’t talk much about the rest. It had largely consisted of orders, defiance, and torture. 

“They never did anything that would leave a scar. They didn’t want to mark me. I was supposed to be perfect.” 

What am I supposed to say to that? 

“I’m not,” he confesses in a whisper. “I don’t know quite what’s wrong with me, but something is. I’m all broken inside. I want to be good now, I do. I want to be good for you. But I can’t.” 

“You are,” I urge. 

“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If there were something I could do? If I could make you happy? You’d tell me what to do.” 

“Of course.” 

“Please.” He closes his eyes and says, like it’s the most dreadful secret in the world, “I don’t want you to send me away, my Lord.” 

My throat closes up. “And you think I would? You think I could? Dean, there is nothing you could do… nothing. I love you. Didn’t you believe me when I said that?” 

“Doesn’t mean you want me with you,” he murmurs. 

“Actually, it does.” 

He doesn’t seem to believe my protests. I’ve grown sensitive to signs that he’s remembering something from the time we were apart. 

“Tell me, Dean.” 

“I saw… I saw what happened. Some of the… some of the others there, at the training center, were sent to Husbands who didn’t like them. Who they displeased. There was one girl…” he shudders with horror, but continues. “She miscarried their first child. He beat her nearly to death and then sent her back so they could finish the job.” 

“Dean.” He’s surprisingly lucid, clear telling this terrible story. “You know I’d never do that to you.” 

“I know. But that doesn’t mean… I… I can’t…” 

I can see the confusion spreading across his face, the utter uncertainty. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows I want him to act normal, to act like himself, but there’s the conditioning in his brain, forcing him to be this submissive, terrified stranger. 

I don’t want to pressure him. “It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay.” 

“No, I didn’t, I’m not, can’t, can’t…” 

He’s growing more and more hysterical. Not physically- he hasn’t shifted from his position in my arms- but his voice is high and quite loud. 

“Dean!” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I won’t, gotta stay whole, gotta take care of him, my Sammy, he needs me…” 

It’s been so long. I know he isn’t really with me, doesn’t know I’m even there, but he’s still… he’s still saying my name. And the sound of it is wonderful.

 The moment shatters when he realizes what he’s done and starts to full-out scream, loud enough that it rings in my ears.

  “Dean! Calm down!”

 The sound stops with painful abruptness. I take his hands, pulling them down to his lap, to a resting position where he can’t do any damage if he starts to panic.

  “Okay. Look at me.”

 He obeys.

 And the sheer, unadulterated terror I see in his wide eyes breaks my heart.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, Dean. Okay? It’s okay. Shh. Shh. I’ve got you.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he says in a very small voice.

  “I know. It’s not your fault. I’m not mad. I promise.”

  “It was inexcusable. I was entirely out of line.”

  “You had a panic attack. There’s a difference.”

  “I apologize for my behavior, my Lord.”

  “Don’t.” I turn his face carefully, forcing him to look at me. “Don’t do this. I want you to trust me, Dean. I want you to believe me. That’s all. Just believe me. I know you were conditioned to think that you’re… that you’re somehow less than me. But it’s not true. You’re… you’re the most incredible person. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you and I’m so very, very glad I have you back and I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “I know. Still want to, though.”

 He almost smiles. I suppose that should be enough. I ought to content myself with the fact that I’m making it better, little by little.

 For some reason, I can’t seem to. Every part of me is screaming to go raging out into the world and demand my Dean back now, new and improved. I don’t suppose I’m going to get it, though.

  “Are you feeling all right?” I ask him.

  “I’m kind of tired,” he admits.

  “Okay. Let me get you settled in bed.”

 He nods gratefully. We climb the stairs together, and I tuck him in.

  “It’s been an eventful evening. You get some rest, Dean. I’m going to just go for a little walk and clear my head, all right? I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay.” He strains up for a kiss, and I smile and press my lips ever-so-gently to his.

  “I love you.”

 I mosey back down the grand staircase, out the main door, and down the little road. There are few people out this time of night, and the street is nearly completely dark, except for the occasional bleed-through of a house light.

 Today has been interesting. Very, very interesting. It had its good points… like when Dean believed me when I told him I loved him. And it had its bad points, like the fact that he had a panic attack. All in all, I think it was an improvement. Not that I can stop working forward.

 Maybe, soon, I’ll get him to start calling me Sammy again.

 I’m just at the end of the street, where it fades into the woods. I suppose I ought to turn around.

 That’s when they grab me.

[ Chapter Three](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13511.html)   



	4. My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 3

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**My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 3**   
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[Chapter Two ](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13258.html)

 

            A blindfold is slapped over my eyes, my hands twisted and bound behind my back. I’m picked up, slung over someone’s shoulder, and thrown unceremoniously to my knees on a hard surface that feels rather like it is made of metal. It also feels rather like it has bruised my knees.

             I wonder if this is what Dean felt like when he was being kidnapped by the government.

             They shove a gag in my mouth as I open it to ask who they are. Well, that was the opposite of helpful. Then the surface beneath me starts moving. I can hear a rumbling sound. I must be in a vehicle of some kind.

             So they’re transporting me.

            And who are they?

             And how can I get out of here?

             I’m trying not to let fear take over. I’ve gotten a lot better at controlling my emotions thanks to Dean.

             Dean.

             Have to get home to Dean.

             I start to struggle against my bonds again, and there’s a rough smack to the back of my head. I’m trying to protest, to explain that I have money, or that I need to get home, that I have a Wife, a life.

             I decide it’s a bad idea when I get another hard blow, this time a kick to the ribs. Whoever is back here with me is wearing boots with hard toes, maybe even steel. It’s going to leave one fucking hell of a bruise. I take a deep breath and decide, for my own good, to shut the fuck up.

             It’s about an hour’s ride. My knees are aching brutally by the time we get there. I really want to know why they’ve kidnapped me.

             That was not a thought I ever wanted to have.

             They drag me out of the trunk, practically by my hair. I grumble and try to get to my feet independently. They don’t seem inclined to let me. All too quickly, I am manhandled onto another rock-hard floor. I begin to consider donating some of my income to carpeting the floors of the poor and disenfranchised criminals. I soothe myself with calculating the cost of that and whether or not I could budget it in and still be able to quit my job and take care of Dean.

             It gives me something to think about at last.

             Then the blindfold is ripped away.

             It’s amazing how quickly having a gun pressed to your head can kill all thoughts of sarcasm.

             “Don’t talk. Don’t think about running. Stand up.”

             I swallow back the heavy taste of fear and clamber clumsily to my feet. I follow the press of a hand on my back. Though I can see in the dimly lit corridor, I can’t tell who it is that has captured me—they’re standing behind me. To protect themselves? To prevent my escape? Just to keep me on edge? I don’t know, and I don’t have time to wonder. The cool metal is still pressing into the back of my neck, and that’s more than enough to make me pay attention to my travel down the obscure path ahead of me instead of any other concerns.

             Because I have to take care of Dean, I have to fix my relationship with my father, I have to make change in the broken government, but to do any of this I have to be alive. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to do anything stupid—in fact, I’m going to do exactly what I’m supposed to, exactly what these people say, and hope they don’t kill me.

             I can’t save a single person if I can’t save myself.

             At the end of the corridor, whoever’s behind me shoves me roughly enough that I collapse to my knees again. There’s a hand twisting in my hair. I want to make some kind of sarcastic comment about kinky sex, but I think better of it. Because I am going to keep my smart mouth shut and live, damn it.

             “Sam Winchester?”

             The voice is a woman’s, which surprises me. I would have expected this kind of violence to come from a man.

             “Excuse me.” She loosens the gag. It’s still in my mouth, obstructing my ability to speak, but at least I can get words out.

             “Yeah. That’s me.”

             “Pleasure. I’m Aleina.”

             “Just Aleina?”

             “Bastards don’t have last names, Mr. Winchester.”

             She walks around to look at me, and I see that she’s really quite a pretty young woman, a slender brunette with green eyes. She doesn’t smile.

             “I see.”

             “Is that all you have to say? Had I been lifted from my bed, I’m certain I would have some demands.”

             “Well, I was on a walk, first of all. And it’s been made rather clear that I’m to keep my mouth shut if I ever want to leave here alive.”

             “Mr. Winchester, allow me to make one thing perfectly clear to you right now. You are absolutely, under no circumstances, ever going to leave, alive or dead. Is that understood?”

             “No,” I protest. “Please. I have money, I can…”

             “Money is not our object here.”

             “I have a family. Let me…”

             “Oh, we know about your family. If you can call it that. Tell me, how many times have you raped that boy?”

             I feel like I’m going to be sick. “I haven’t touched him. Not like that. I wouldn’t…”

             “Of course not. I’m sure he was begging to be violated by a complete stranger. Better than being tortured and killed in cold blood by the government, I suppose.”

             “No. No, I haven’t…” I’m choking on the words. “I wouldn’t…”

             “Oh, you’re above that?”

             “As a matter of fact, I am.”

             “You wouldn’t touch that nice, willing body, lying all pliant and well-trained in your bed, just waiting for you to do whatever you’d like?”

             I’m feeling like she has some issues with the whole system. “I haven’t. I love him.”

             “What a noble sentiment.”

             “Listen. What do you think is going to happen to him without me? They’ll take him back to that place. They’ll hurt him. Please, you have to let me go. You have to let me take care of him.”

             “How charming. You must rush home and protect your property.”

             “He’s not my property.” I’m choking on those words. “You can’t…”

             “But we can. It doesn’t work the way you think it’s supposed to anymore, Mr. Winchester.”

             “You can’t say things like that about him! And you can’t make me leave him. You can’t. He needs me. You don’t understand… he’s barely…”

             She studies me coldly, noting the way my body shakes, the terror in my eyes. She reads some honesty there. “Very well. We will bring him here, and then we will see just how well you’ve taken care of him.”

             “Thank you,” I say, not letting my voice betray any fear. I don’t doubt that I’ve done the best I possibly could by Dean, but there’s always the chance that, in his brokenness, he could say something that would be misinterpreted. Which could lead to very negative consequences for me. And thus him.

             She huffs and walks away, leaving me alone, on my knees, in the cell. I’m frightened, I’m hungry and cold, but I don’t let that show. I refuse to let it show. I have to be strong. I’m not sure quite what proving that to these people will do for me, quite how it will improve my situation, but I have to have something to focus on, or I’m going to go mad kneeling here on this rock-hard concrete.

             It’s days. Alone, no food, nothing to eat. The only interaction I have is when someone comes in and kicks or cuffs me if I try to move. At first, I provoke this reaction, but then I realize they have more manpower and steel-toed boots and they will win. Then I just lie there, pliantly. I distract myself with thoughts of home, of Dean. All the things I want to show him, how happy I could make him with all the things he’d missed in his imprisonment. How much I could do for him. How much I love him.

             Dean arrives, finally. I’m starving, weak, my vision going blurry around the edges.

             The same woman escorts him in, pulls my face up sharply so I’m forced to look at him. Aleina, that was her name. She almost smiles at me. Almost.

             I guess Dean has made an impression.

             “My Lord?” he says quietly, and I can see that smile disappear.

             Of course.

             I can’t blame Dean. That would be blatantly unfair. It’s not his fault, and I can hardly have expected him to get better during our time apart. It’s a wonder he’s speaking at all.

             “Dean.” I want to open my arms and snuggle him close, but that’s not an option, my hands still cuffed behind my back.

             “Are you all right?” he says. “Have they hurt you?”

             “I’m fine.”

             “Your face is bruised.” He brushes his fingertips very softly against my cheek. “I’m going to kill them,” he hisses.

             Dean, my Dean, was always over-protective. I was his little brother, and he took care of me. It was his job. I haven’t seen that side of him since we were separated.

             “Seriously. And I’m gonna start with you, bitch. You think you get to touch Sammy? Hurt him? Well, you’ve got another think coming.”

             It’s bravado, obviously, almost painfully, but that doesn’t make it any less sweet. He’s standing up for me, and it might very well save my life.

             That is, if she doesn’t decide Dean is a threat and needs to be put down before he kills her, which is looking like a possibility.

             “Dean, I need you to look at me,” she says in a perfectly calm and collected voice. “Can you do that for me?”

             “If you can give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

             “Because you’re completely unarmed and, even if you did try, my armed men are on guard in the next room?”

             “Fair enough.”

             She smiles, genuinely this time. “Now. I want you to answer a question.”

             “Yeah?” His arms are crossed over his chest, all cocky attitude.

             “Have you and your Husband consummated your marriage?”

             The change is terrifying. His face crumples, his eyes fill with tears. He looks down, away from us, his shoulders shaking. He doesn’t answer the question.

             I know exactly what she’s going to take from that response. And I don’t blame her. His whole demeanor is someone who’s been hurt, traumatized… raped.

             “Dean,” I whisper. “Dean, it’s okay. She’s not going to hurt you.”

             “Please,” he’s pleading, his voice cracking. “No, please, no, I didn’t, I can’t, please…”

             She glares at me. “Dean, listen to me-“

             “No, no, I didn’t, I can’t, I tried, I promise, I tried…”

             “Liar,” she hisses at me. “You liar.”

             “No! For pity’s sake, listen to what he’s saying!” I roar, clambering awkwardly to my feet despite the fact that my arms are tied. She’s too transfixed by the murmuring, shaking Dean to protest.

             “Please, I tried, I did everything I was supposed to. It’s not my fault he didn’t want to. Please don’t take him away from me. Please, I need him. Please.”

             She looks, wide-eyed, first at Dean, then at me. I don’t react to her.

             “Dean, it’s okay,” I whisper. “I won’t let them take you away. I promise.”

             “Please, Sammy. Please-“

             I can’t wrap my arms around him, still tied up, but I stand as close to him as he can, and he holds me. He’s not quite crying, but I can feel wetness in his eyes when he buries his head against my shoulder. I nuzzle my head against his, pressing a chaste kiss to his sweat-soaked hair.

             And then, suddenly, my wrists are being released. I don’t bother trying to fight her, to get any kind of revenge. I throw my arms around Dean, rocking him back and forth, letting him cling to my chest and sob desperately.

             “Dean, Dean, it’s all right. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Shh. Shh. I’m right here, I’m right here…”

             It takes a while for him to stop crying, but when he does, he lifts his head from my chest. “My lord?”

             “Yeah, sweetheart?”

             “Can I kick her ass now?”

             “No.”

             “But…”

             “We should have a nice chat with her first. And then you can kick her ass if we deem it necessary. Okay?”

             He grumbles, “Okay. But I don’t have to like it.”

             I smile. “’course not, sweetheart.”

             She’s still staring wordlessly at us. “Sam—” she manages, voice choked.

             “There’s no need for the formalities. I’m not a fan of brutality. I just want to know. Why did you bring me here?”

             “We… because… well… because of Dean.”

             Instinctively, I tighten my arms protectively around him. “What?”

             “Because you owned a slave. That’s what it is, really. Being Wedded? Because no one ever gave your Dean a choice. He has no rights, nowhere to run. He was raped, beaten, and tortured in training, and then they gave him to you, all healed up and ready for use. And you’d never know. You could just…” she chokes off. “It’s wrong. It’s wrong. And you don’t even know.”

             “I do,” I whisper. “I do because I look at Dean and I see it. I see how much they’ve hurt him and I hate it. I want to kill them. I’d do it with my bare hands if I didn’t have to take care of Dean.”

             “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.”

             “I guess it’s a fair assumption to make. After all, I’m the only one who had a choice.”

             “I suppose I was wrong.”

             “Not in general. It’s a broken institution and most Husbands aren’t like me. Most of them don’t give a damn if they have consent or anything like that. No, they’re more than happy to have a nice, warm body in their beds.” 

            She’s looking appraisingly at me. “Sam Winchester, you have surprised me.”

            “Oh?”

            “You’re the opposite of what I thought you were. You’re not a monster. Honestly, you’re not that different than me.”

             “Sir?” Dean says, as if hesitant to interrupt. I turn to him immediately.

             “Yes, love?”

             “It’s not… you didn’t…”

             “Shh. I know. I was very, very careful not to, so I know I didn’t.”

             “You didn’t hurt me,” he whispers.

             “I know.”

             She says, “I want to make you an offer, Sam.”

             “One I can’t refuse?”

             “No. If you say no, just go home- you _and_ Dean. Completely safe. Unharmed, untouched. But if you stay…”

             “Yes?”

             “If you stay, you and Dean will be able to make a difference. That’s what we do here. We’re trying to stop them- the Government, I mean. From doing to others what they did to your Wife.”

            “He has a name.”

            “Forgive me.” Her smile doesn’t look particularly guilty. “To Dean.”

            “Thank you.” I’m still holding him close, and he rests his head on my shoulder and looks at me all wide-eyed and sweet. I want to kiss him so badly, but I wouldn’t humiliate him like that in front of this stranger woman.

            “You would have your own lodging here in our secure base. I can’t offer you freedom to move about as you want or a promise of safety. We are terrorists here, Mr. Winchester. Subversives. We do violent, terrible things and sometimes innocent people, rather like you, get in the way. We try our best to prevent that, but it is sometimes impossible.” 

            I nod curtly. “I can understand that.” 

            “And the one thing I can say is that… here, no one will look down on Dean. He will be just another of our operatives. I am a Bastard, and I’m the head of this organization. My partner is an escaped Wife. There are others.” 

            “How many people here?” 

            “I can’t tell you that.” 

            “I’d like an estimate.” 

            “From this central location, there are ten teams of two operating. There are significantly more than that in other, more minor, bases. And that is all I can tell you about that.” 

            I nod at her. “Fair enough.” 

            “We are not a small movement, Sam. Any government can only oppress its people for so long until they get rather, well, unhappy about it. And then they will rise up.” 

            “I suppose that’s true.” 

            She stares, her blank expression turning into a smile after a long moment. “I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? You wouldn’t have the faintest idea what it’s like. You rich little Hunter’s son.” 

            I raise one eyebrow. 

            “You’ve never been outside the city, have you?’           

            “Well, my house is in the countryside…” 

            “But you’ve never been to the slums.” 

            “No one goes to the slums.” 

            “I was born there.” 

            I choke. “What?” 

            “I was born there, Sam. Most Bastards are. Where do you think the people who clean your house and weed your gardens live? Out there, in heaps of your garbage.” 

            “But…” 

            “It’s impossible? It’s disgusting? It’s unbearable? Why do you think we want to fight, Sam?” 

            I’ve never been in the slums. As I said, no one has. The great, foul-smelling wasteland outside the few isolated cities are full of more than just garbage. After the Horror, the great population explosions at the turn of the century, land was farmed and farmed until it gave way. The slums are built on that dead, exhausted soil, and lined with the corpses of the millions who starved. 

            More than forty years later, it still smells like rotting flesh. 

            “What will happen?” I ask, quietly. “What happens if you overthrow the government? Win equal rights for everyone? It will be lovely, certainly, but what will we all eat?” 

            “We won’t. There won’t be enough. Not unless we tear down the cities and turn them into farms and even then, it’ll just be the Horror all over again. But this isn’t right. Slavery isn’t a means of birth control.” 

            “Fair enough.” 

            “So will you help us? We could use you. A respectable young man, complete with Wife, secretly helping our cause? It could go a very, very long way.” 

            I pause for a second. And then I realize that this is not a decision I can make all alone. After all, I’m a Wedded man. 

            “Dean?” 

            “My Lord?’ 

            “What do you think?” 

            He just stares. “Pardon me?” 

            “What do you think? Should we stay?” 

            “Whatever pleases you.” 

            I roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that crap, Dean.” 

            “My Lord?” 

            “You were threatening someone’s life twenty minutes ago. Don’t start in on the act again. I know you have opinions and feelings, and that is okay. So tell me what they are.” 

            “My Lord…” 

            I give him my best John Winchester disapproving look, and he swallows. 

            “Sammy.” 

            I grin. “That’s it. Now just tell me, Dean.” 

            “I want to stay,” he says. “I’m… I’m almost… I’m not sorry that they took me away, Sammy. I’m not sorry I went through that, because I get to be with you. But… but not… most people aren’t that lucky.” 

            It occurs to me again that, if it weren’t by the grace of my boss having one bright idea in his entire life, my Dean could very easily have been one of those people. At this moment, he could be on his knees in front of some cruel stranger instead of safe, here, in my arms. 

            I would never want that to happen to anyone else. I’m not so narcissistic I think my love is unique in the world. And I don’t want anyone, anyone, to have to suffer the way I would if Dean were being treated that way. 

            “And you want to fight?” 

            “I’m not scared, Sammy,” he says, jaw set. “I’m not afraid to fight back against something was wrong. That’s how Dad raised us. And that’s the kind of man I want to be.” 

            “I’m so proud of you,” I whisper. 

            He’s come so far in so short a time. And it doesn’t matter that there’s a stranger in the room with us or that I’m dirty and sore and there’s red marks on my wrists from the ropes or that the walls are made of concrete and there’s no light. 

            I draw him impossibly closer, lifting his chin with two gentle fingers, and kiss him. 

            The woman coughs, and I ignore her completely. My tongue is playing along Dean’s lower lip, tasting the soft fullness of his skin. He’s totally relaxed against me, sagging against my body, letting me hold him up. 

            “I love you,” he murmurs, so quietly I feel it rather than hear it. But I know it’s been said. There’s no doubt in my mind at all. 

            “I love you too,” I say, pulling away to whisper it in his ear. He almost sobs. If we were alone, I would go in for another kiss. But we’re not. 

            “Perhaps this would be a good time for me to show you to your rooms?” she says with a second polite little cough. 

            I laugh. “I think we would appreciate that.” 

            Dean whispers something that sounds like a yes. But I’m not entirely sure. 

            Taking his hand, we follow her as she leads us out of the room, undoing the bolt on the heavy door and unlocking it—I notice locks on both sides of the door. They must have been very intent on keeping their evil oppressive husband on careful lockdown. 

            Dean cuddles up against me, his head resting on my shoulder as we walk. I press a kiss to his fine hair, and he sighs. 

            The hall is brightly lit, and my eyes hurt after days in that dark room. I’m surprised by how friendly the space seems. The walls are painted blue, and there are quite a few windows. 

            Then again, I suppose if they live here, they like to keep it a bit nicer than their prison cells. 

            “Here’s the cafeteria. You might want to stop by and get something to eat.” 

            I nod. “I’m pretty hungry. Is there a reason you don’t feed the prisoners?” 

            “If you’ve seen the team eat, you’d know.” 

            “What?” 

            “We don’t have any to spare!” 

            I laugh. “Fair enough.” 

            “She didn’t  _feed_ you?” Dean exclaims, indignant. 

            “I was only here for—“ 

            “Two days.” Dean has his hands on his hips. “And I had no idea where you were. I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead and I thought… I was afraid you left me…and all of a sudden this woman I don’t even know shows up and says ‘I’ve got your Husband. If you’d like to come with me, please…’” 

            “Oh, Dean-“ 

            “Don’t.” He pushes away from me. It only hurts a little. Honestly. I mean it. And I ought to be a bit glad. I should be happy that he’s doing what he wants, that he’s saying not to me when no is what he means. 

            I’m not. 

            “I’m worried about you,” he says quietly. “That’s all.” 

            “I love you too,” I say. 

            “Will you eat something?” he asks, gesturing at the kitchen. “I’m afraid you’re going to pass out.” 

            I nod. “Yeah, sure.” 

            “Be our guests.”

             The room is fairly empty. There are three hard-faced people—two men and a woman—sitting in a corner table. They have mugs of coffee and are talking in low, fierce whispers about something I’m sure, from their demeanor, is very important. They freeze when we walk in, glaring up at us, but go back to their conversation when Aleina waves at them.

             At the back of the room, there’s a small kitchen, a refrigerator that’s giving out the angry hum of electronic devices well past their prime, and a pantry that’s open to reveal shelves so full they look like they’re about to burst.

             “Help yourself,” she says. I grin and go in for the pasta.

             “Dean, you want any?”

             “Do I ever  _not_ want some?” 

            The task is fairly mindless. I boil water, find butter in the fridge, put sausages in a pan to eat alongside it. 

            We eat the entire box between the two of us. It’s not quite at the level of Susanne’s gourmet three-course meals waiting for me when I come home every night, but it tastes damn good. 

            “Don’t eat too much, Sammy. You’ll get sick.” 

            I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dean.”

             “No, really. Remember when we were little and Dad didn’t always leave enough 

            “I always had plenty.” 

            “Yeah, yeah. But I didn’t. So I’d know. Eat a little at a time. Give your tummy time to expand. That’s what I told you when you were four.” 

            I laugh. 

            We eat, reminiscing about childhood. He talks about wiping my runny noses and giving me my first beer, and I thank him for it, maybe for the first time. He smiles at me, that classic cocky grin that I remember so well. I used to picture that while I was having sex with Jess, used to imagine him smiling up at me with his eyes glistening with such infinite satisfaction. 

            When he made me come when we were teenagers, dragged an illicit orgasm from me with his mouth or his hand, he used to smile at me just like that. So self-satisfied, so self-assured. 

            I missed that when he was broken. And I want it back. I want him to be like this all the time. I kiss him over the soapy water as I’m washing up, and he laughs, laughs, clear and high like a bell. 

             We barely make it back to the room. 

    Aleina leads us down the hallway as we kiss and grope each other. I swear I can tell that she’s rolling her eyes. 

            She unlatches a door. “I think this one’s empty… yep.” She also flicks on the light, revealing a single comfortably sized (if not immense) bed, a dresser, a chair, and a small, round table. All the furnishings are utilitarian, simple, but they’ll be sufficient. “You boys have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

            She all-but-flees, closing the door behind us. I run my hand down Dean’s back, sighing as he grips my biceps hard, forcing me to stay close for another kiss, and then another. Whimpering moans fall from our lips, and he thrusts almost mindlessly against me. 

            I soothe him, tangling my hands through his hair. “Hush, Dean. Shh.” 

            “No,” he grumbles. “Fuck, Sammy… wanchu. Want you now.”

             And those are the wrong words to say.

             On the one hand, it’s good to know. And I’d be lying through my teeth if I claimed I didn’t want him too. But…

             But that’s not enough.

             Because being full of lust isn’t the same as giving consent. And this isn’t the kind of decision we should make because of heavy balls and rock-hard dicks. It’s something we should talk about in a calm, collected, non-sexual context.

             I pull away, because if I don’t I’m going to push him flat on that nice big bed and ravish him rather thoroughly.

             I regret it immediately.

             He looks up at me, eyes huge and panicky. “Sammy? What did I do wrong?”

             At least I don’t have to hear that hated title again. “Nothing,” I hush him gently. “Nothing.”

             “Then…”

             “Dean, listen to me for a second, all right?”

[ Chapter Four](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13684.html)   



	5. My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 4

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**My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 4**   
_   
  
[Chapter Three ](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13511.html)

 

             “I want… damn it. I want you so much. You know that, right?”

             I’m not sure he really does, it almost looks like one of his polite lies, but he nods, no doubt trying to give me the answer he thinks I want.

             “I’ve wanted you all along. I adore you and I desire you and I can hardly stand to be doing this. But…” And I draw in a deep breath and all my courage to say, “I can’t do this. Not right now. You’re… you’re not…”

             “I’m not in my right mind?”

             “No! Well, yes. I’ve been gone and you were worried and you missed me and now I’m back, and besides…” 

            “What?” he demands. “You don’t think I’m able to consent? D’you think I’m a child, Sam? I was the one who changed _your_ fucking diapers. And now…” He trails off, too angry to even finish the sentence. “Do you think I’m less than you? Is that it? Because of my birth, you think I’m some kind of… of invalid?” 

            “No-“

             He talks right over me. “You don’t even trust me enough to believe that I fucking well mean it when I say I want to give myself to you. That I want us to make love. That I’ve been waiting so damned long for this moment. And before you said we had to wait, said it was too dangerous. Now it’s not. What are you waiting for?”

             “Dean.” I take his hands. “Look. I’m not… I’m just… I’m so afraid of hurting you.”

             “I know.” He kisses me, lips soft and so warm.

             “I don’t want to-“

             “I know.”

             “How can I know?”

             “Ask me, Sammy.” There’s a twinkle of love in his eyes, and the anger has faded to understanding.

             “Dean…” And then the words are right there. “Will you let me make love to you?”

             He grins. “Yes.”

             We kiss, wet and passionate, all lips and tongue. He sighs readily as I stroke my hands up and down his back, tangling in the fine fabric of his shirt. My name is so beautiful as he whispers it into my mouth.

             He fumbles eagerly with the buttons of my shirt, and I smile and help him slide it off. Then I tear his clean off, aching for the touch of his skin. It’s so, so soft, so real under my fingertips, under the press of my mouth to every inch of it. He’s so pale, barely-visible freckles smudging every so often. I draw little paths between them with the tip of my tongue and he whimpers in delight.

             Then he steps back, playfully out of my reach.

             I growl and step forward.

             He steps back again, and I pounce, pushing him down on the bed. He smiles and tilts his hips up, rubbing his clothed erection against my groin.

             “Fuck,” I mutter.

             “Believe me, Sammy. We’re about to.”

             “I… oh…”

             And then talking starts to seem highly unnecessary, in the wake of other things, like the fact that Dean is kissing my neck. With his tongue all warm and nimble against the pulse point and where did he learn that, I sure hope it wasn’t from those bastards that kidnapped him because that might diminish my extreme desire to kill them and…

             “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to…”

             “That’s kind of the point.”

             “But…”

             “We need to get lube from somewhere, baby boy.”

             I practically sob out a moan as Dean ghosts his hand down my sides, his touch feather-light.

             “C’mon. Let’s get you naked.”

             I’m not entirely sure when this happened, but right now it sure as hell seems like Dean, _my_ Dean, the one who spent our shared childhood taking care of me, the one who was always the responsible one, the one in charge, the older brother… well, it seems like he’s the one here. Not the scared, submissive shell I got back ten years later.

             And fuck if it isn’t turning me on.

             Dean unbuttons my pants while I wrestle with my shirt. The task seems a hell of a lot harder than it usually does. And then…

             I have a very hard time thinking of anything except ‘wet’ ‘hot’ ‘fuck’ and ‘good.’ I gamely resist the urge to fuck forward into his mouth as he hushes me, gently rolling me over so I’m propped against the bed, my ass facing Dean. Now that ridiculous mouth of his is at my hole, one tease of warm breath before…

             I did not know people did that. I’m not exactly a virgin, in fact I thought Dean and I had done just about everything that didn’t involve actual penetration, but… I did not know people did that. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be quite so enjoyable.

             “Tell me if it hurts,” he says roughly as he pulls away to tease a finger across the muscle there.

             The only response I can get out is a broken little whimper. And that’s before he works the finger in.

             He is very, very gentle as he does it. It hardly hurts at all, and the slight burn I do feel is dull enough that it’s almost pleasurable. “Shh, Sammy, I gotcha.”

             I murmur something. It might have been his name, but at this point I’m genuinely not sure. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I remember my own.

             “All right. Gonna make you come now.”

             “De-“

             “What is it?”

             “Want… want to have you inside me when… when I…”

             “I know. I’ll get you there again, baby boy. I promise. I just gotta get you all nice and slick so I don’t hurt you, okay?”

             His voice is so sweet and soothing. I don’t know how I could do anything _but_ trust him. “Okay, De.”

             “That’s my boy. C’mon.” His hand closes around my erection, which I suddenly realize is throbbing rather painfully. In counterpart to the soft circles of his finger inside me, he strokes, one, two, three times. The sound I make is somewhere in between a sob and a grunt, and he grins cockily at me.

             “Jerk,” I mutter.

             “Bitch,” he retorts, laughing, as he carefully coats a second finger with my come. “All right. This should go in easy enough.”

             It does. He stretches them inside me, stroking back and forth. Slowly, slowly, he spreads them apart, and the tip of his middle finger touches _something._ Prostate, the Ivy-league bit of my brain supplies, but the rest of me is too busy seeing stars to consider the implications. My cock starts to take a decided interest in the proceedings again, and I’m both prepared and distracted enough that the third finger slips in easily.

             “Think you’re ready, Sammy?”

             “Been ready.”

             “Okay.”

             He strokes his own neglected erection just once with his still come-sticky hand, and then carefully lines himself up. His lips are at my neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there, as he slides in.

             My erection wilts rather suddenly. I grit my teeth.

             It hurts, but I’d expected it to. And it’s more than worth it to be this close to Dean, especially a Dean who seems so much better… almost _all_ better.

             And then he freezes. “Shh, Sammy. Take a minute. Tell me when it stops hurting.”

             “I’m fine…”

             “Liar. C’mon. Don’t worry about me, baby boy. I can take care of myself. Just let me make it good for you.”

             And, sighing, I relent. I take a few deep, slow breaths. The startling pain of the original penetration starts to slip away, replaced by something else entirely. I feel it in my gut, a great, intense warmth of love for Dean.

             My protector, my brother, my responsibility, my Wife, my lover…

             He’s been everything to me. And there’s no part of him I don’t know, and there’s no part of myself I wouldn’t trust him with.

             There’s nothing more beautiful than this.

             “Go,” I whisper. “Please.”

             He doesn’t need persuading. I’m sure he can read my honesty in the low, awed tone of my voice. He kisses the nape of my neck again, the one place his lips can reach easily, and thrusts.

             The first few times, he’s gentle, careful. It hurts, yes, but not as much as it did before. And then, almost by a fortuitous accident, he finds the right place, the right angle to hit…

             “Yes,” I keen, low in the back of my throat, and he speeds up. It’s deep, now, intense, every piston of his hips in and out, in and out. I twist the sheets in my fists, gasping with the sudden, exquisite pleasure.

             “Sammy,” he groans, and my name is worship, adoration, love. I wish I could kiss him but I settle for tilting my ass back so he has a better angle to fuck, to rut inside me. I’m hard again now, achingly so, but there’s no desperation to come.

             I want this to go on forever.

             Still, I know that’s impossible.

             “Can’t… need to…” he tries to say, then pulls his classic Dean maneuver and settles for expressing himself with actions, namely, a hand around my cock.

             For some reason, his inability to talk about his feelings doesn’t irritate me as much as it usually does.

             That thought makes me chuckle, even as I’m shaking with pleasure.

             “S’mmy,” he murmurs again. It’s such a beautiful sound. My name is practically a blessing on his open lips, and I turn my face around, craning my neck, and he finally, finally kisses me.

             I come, sobbing my pleasure into his mouth, as he strokes his hand up and down my cock, almost soothingly, gently. He holds perfectly still through his orgasm, a contrast to my shaking, desperate bliss. Ever so carefully, still cradling me against his chest, he pulls out and turns me around.

             “We should clean up,” he grumbles.

             “Don’t wanna move…”

             “Okay. Guess we’ll just unstuck ourselves from the sheets in the morning.”

             I nod. “Sounds good.”

             He laughs, but then his eyes grow soft. “It was good for you, wasn’t it?”

             “Yeah. Yeah. It was…” I’m trying to find the right word to express the combination of gratitude, love, and awe. I settle for, “Wonderful.”

             “Told you I’d take care of you.”

             “Mm.”

             He brushes a kiss against my hair. “I love you, Sammy.”

             “Love you too.”

             He doesn’t argue when I curl up against his chest. With uncharacteristic grace, he tolerates my eager snuggling… though he doesn’t wrap an arm around me until he thinks I’m asleep.

             “Get out of the bed, boys!”

             Aleina is shouting, and frankly I’m considerably more frightened of her at this moment than I was when she was literally imprisoning me.

             We stumble to our feet… and I realize Dean’s prediction was right. We’re stuck to the sheets. Fortunately, it spares our tender modesty. Unfortunately, it leaves absolutely no doubt as to precisely how we’d occupied ourselves last evening.

             “All right. I didn’t want to do this so soon. Frankly, I have absolutely no proof I can trust either of you, and besides I would have liked to give you a little time to settle in before… but there’s no time for that now. It’s an absolute emergency.”

             “W’s goin’ on?” Dean slurs. He’s even less of a morning person than I am.

             “While the two of you were locked up safe in your room, presumably making sweet, sweet love, civil war broke out.” 

            I gasp.

            “The slums are just about empty. We didn’t know it was going to happen so soon, but…” 

            “What… why?”

             “There was a new policy enacted. The Legitimate birthrate has fallen too low. There need to be more Weddings. So every family is required to give up one child to be trained as a Wife.”

             That wakes Dean up. “How old?” he whispers.

             “Three to six.”

             “I thought twenty-“

             “Is the standard age. But when I was there, they’d already started taking in younger children. They thought there would be… fewer rebellions, that way. Fewer problem cases like me.”

             “Oh. Oh, hell…”

             “The Bastards are refusing. There are riots in the street.”

             “Dad-“ I gasp.

             “If you have loved ones out there, let me know. We can keep an eye out.”

             “John Winchester,” Dean says, in a low, intense voice. “Sam’s father. The man who fostered me.”

             She nods. “I’ll do what I can. But… but I do need your help. All of my trained teams are out there on the streets, trying to control this… this madness. I don’t exactly trust the two of you to handle yourselves in the middle of a riot.”

             “Understandable.”

             “But that certainly doesn’t render you useless. Listen to me.”

             I nod.

             “There’s an orphanage. Right in the middle of the slums. It’s dirt-poor, kids are probably all half-starved anyway. We got a leak from the government. They’re gonna raid it.”

             “For…”

             “So the kids can be trained as Wives. There are three hundred children in that building. We need to evacuate them and get them safely out of the slums… and the city, for that matter. Bring them here.”

             “Where are…”

             “I’ll give you a map.” I really, really wish she’d let me finish a bloody sentence. She takes a thin sheet of paper from the pocket of her crisp black suit jacket and unfolds it, half and then half again.

             I look at it carefully. The jumble of places is entirely unfamiliar. “I’m not exactly… um… familiar with the study of geography,” I admit.

             “Let’s make it very simple. You are here.” She taps a single, tiny red dot on the map, and I make a careful mental note of its location. “The poor helpless children…” her fingers slides a few inches down and to the left “are here. Clear?”

             I nod.

             “Where’s the city?”

             “I don't think you need to know that."

            “What? Why?”

             “Because…”

             “Because, as I’ve just mentioned, I don’t trust you. Either of you.”

             I nod, somewhat automatically.

             “And...” Dean prompts.

             “And that means you don’t get to know where my super-secret base is. Or, at least, how to get to the city where the other evil, oppresive Legitimates are.”

             “Okay…”

             “You’ll be able to get back here. Hopefully Dean has at least some sense of direction.”

             “I can find it.”

             “Excellent.”

             “So what exactly are we doing?” I prod. I’m not entirely sure ‘Go to orphanage, rescue children, bring them here’ is quite enough information for me to work with.

             “Our contact at the orphanage is Sister Tabitha. When you arrive, she’ll help you organize the children. You’ll have to convince them to leave with the three of you and get them safely back here.”

             “When do we leave?”

             “As soon as you disentangle that sheet from your pubic hair.”

             “Oh. Um…”

             “I’ll give you a half-hour. Put some clothes on, I’ll be back.”

             I swallow, feeling like I’ve just been scolded by my mother. I don’t even remember my mother!

             When she leaves, Dean eyes the sink. “Um…”

             “If we soak in warm water…”

             “Eh. We can try.”

             “It’s that, or we resort to brute force.”

             “Ow.”

             “Precisely.”

             “All right.” Then another problem presents itself. “How are we getting over there?”

             “Eh. Carefully?”

             I nod. It takes us at least the first five minutes to slowly waddle over to the sink. And then the water won’t heat up.

             When it finally gets at least warm, we slowly, slowly manage to peel the sheet away from our groins. Not without some loss of hair, but at least without major loss of organs. So that’s good.

             “Where did you put my pants?” I ask.

             “I dunno.”

             Then we have a merry little romp around the room to try and find our discarded clothing. My pants are under the bed. Dean's shirt is over the desk. My belt is on the doorknob.

            Reassembling our outfits, we tidy ourselves up as much as we can, and then go to join Aleina, who is leaning on our door.

“Well?”

“Well, let’s go.” I try to force a smile. Honestly, I’m a bit nervous. But I don’t want to let that show.

I don’t exactly trust this woman, but I’m not sure what else to do. And if she is telling the truth, well then… I guess I really only have one option.

Dean seems to trust her, and that’s a point in her favor. Besides, I would be happy if I was the only brother ever to lose a sibling the way I did my Dean. Especially children so young… I can hardly imagine it.

She hands us over a small backpack each. “Basic provisions. Food, some water purifying tablets… if I were you, I wouldn’t eat anything I found in the slums, even in the highly unlikely event that you do run into any food.”

 “Okay.”

“Hang on to what I’ve given you. There will be beggars. Kids, cripples, old people. They’re gonna come right up to you and try to get something to eat, some money, maybe your clothes. You can’t give what I’ve given you away, okay? You need to hang on to it or you won’t make it back.”

Dean says, “I won’t let him.”

She nods. “All right. Let me take you to the exit.”

We walk down the long hallway. We don’t talk. The pressure is too high.

The sunlight as Aleina swings the door open is practically blinding. I blink and Dean immediately takes my hand. “Come on.”

“Oh, and just a word of advice?”

“Yes?”

“You boys might want to cut back on the snuggling.”

“What?”

“You might, well… there’s some feeling that… Let’s just say that these are oppressed and very unhappy people. They aren’t fond of those who differ from the normal. The government practically subsidizes same-sex relationships… population control, you know. Which means that…”

“That the Bastards don’t like it.”

For some reason, that strikes me as ridiculous. “But… what…”

“Come on, Sammy.”

“All right.” It’s not time to start restructuring the entirety of the world, I guess. Even if it does need to get done eventually.

“Which way?”

She points. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

[ Chapter Five](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13964.html)   



	6. My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 5

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**My Brother's Keeper -- Chapter 5**   
_   
  
[Chapter Four ](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13684.html)

 

We set off walking. The center is in a wooded area, sunlight slanting through the trees. There’s a path through the brambles and branches, which I assume is the one we’re supposed to follow.

The way there is silent, at first. And then Dean says, “So… do you think… do you think this is a good idea?”

“What?”

“To trust her.” He sounds a lot less sure of himself than he did yesterday, but he still isn’t as tentative as he was before my kidnapping.

“I don’t know.”

“So should we… should we go?”

“Look. Dean. If you think that something bad is happening, that we’re being set up, then… then we’ll run for it. But if not…”

“We have to try,” Dean whispers. “We can’t _not_ try. They’re… they’re children. And… you don’t… Sammy, you don’t know what it was like.”

“No. I don’t.”

“They hurt you. I think that’s all that I have to say. They torture you into compliance, and they’re going to do that to three-year-old children. It’s worth dying for.”

He’s looking at me with a sad kind of desperation in his face, his eyes wide. I sigh and squeeze his hand. “Okay. Come on.”

Not long after that, the path comes to an end. We’re in the slums. I’ve only seen them from a distance before… and I’m not sure I ever wanted to get this close. It’s… it’s terrible.

First of all, the smell of rotting garbage and unwashed bodies makes my stomach turn. As we enter the sprawling heaps of trash, I feel my breakfast start to consider coming back up again.

I’ve read about it in the history books. I knew that, after the population wars, those that couldn’t trace their ancestry properly were sent to live on the immense mounds of the dead and the debris of the battles.

I didn’t know what it was like.

I didn’t imagine the bleached-white bones sticking out of heaps of trash. I didn’t consider the fact that there would be half-starved men and women searching through the disgusting rubble, trying to find something to eat. I didn’t picture the teenaged boys, fighting like two dogs, over a half a loaf of bread.

Dean grabs my hand, forces it down, before I can go for my supplies. “No. We need to save that. Besides, they’ll attack us if they realize we have food.”

“Dean, I…”

“Shh.” Quickly, he presses a kiss to my cheek. “I know, Sammy. I know. I’ll get us out of here.”

“Do you… do you remember this place?”

“Not really. I think I was about four when my mom got Wed. And then… well, they took me in, too. So… Yeah, I was there when you were born… living with your family, I mean. I don’t remember before that. But I… I must have come from here.”

We walk down the streets silently, trying not to be noticed. It’s a long walk, through the rotting, filthy streets. It’s a full day’s walk. The sun is going down by the time we get into the densest part of the maze of shanties. Beyond the makeshift houses, I see a slightly sturdier structure, made of decrepit wood. The sign on the front says, in letters that are likely redundant—no one bothers teaching Bastards how to read—Orphanage.

Dean and I make eye contact and nod, stride up to the door. I knock.

A young woman, dressed in a long black dress, her hair covered, answers it.

“Hey. We’re Sam and Dean Winchester. Aleina sent us…”

“Come in.”

The hallway is cramped and dark. I can hear children’s laughter and shouts echoing from the top floor.

“I’m Sister Tabitha. The others are… well… the others are hiding. I’m the only one left. I just have to help you get the children to safety, and then I’m going to find the others.”

“All right. Can we take them now, or…”

“No. Wait until nighttime. There are informers outside. The government will know… we don’t want them following us.”

I nod, sobered by the thought.

“Let’s get them organized,” Dean says. “Three hundred children aren’t exactly a subtle group.”

“The oldest of them are ready for the trip, and they’re helping the younger ones pack right now.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” I remark dryly, referencing the loud whoops and holders I can hear.

She laughs. “Yes. Well, they’ll be ready by tonight. In the meantime, can I offer you something to drink?”

“No. No. We’re all right.”

I’m getting a bit hungry, so I take the food out of my bag. There’s bread, fresh-baked, and I offer half the loaf to Sister Tabitha.

“Don’t. If I know Aleina, she didn’t give you anything to spare.”

I nod. “True enough.”

When I’ve eaten a little something, I peer outside. It’s nearly dusk.

“I think it’s safe to go. We have to get them out of here by morning. Children!”

They tumble down the stairs. I can tell they’re trying to be quiet… but there are just so many of them. Big, sad eyes in gaunt faces, their hair falling in dirty curls. The older ones are holding babies, and all of them have pitiful little bags full of what I assume are their few possessions.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Come on. We’ll get you safe.”

The kids know how to traverse the slums better than I do. They’re not afraid to get down on the filthy ground, where no casual observers will see them crawling along.

It makes our process slower, but at least they’re safe.

Some of the littler ones cry, but for the most part fear keeps them all silent. We walk all night. The air is cold. Once we’re in the forest, we’re less afraid to talk.

“All right. Stick close, everyone. If anyone you know gets lost, come find me or Sammy and we’ll find them.”

There is a chorus of nods.

And then I hear the sound of it.

“HIDE!” I shout, and they scatter… just as the car comes rattling through the trees. The man in the suit is vaguely familiar. I’ve probably seen him at some party.

And he’s carrying a gun.

“Hello? Excuse me, sir, who are you?” he demands.

“Sam Winchester. This is my Wife, Dean.” I draw myself up to my full height. I’m not exactly dressed like a Legitimate right now, but my acting skills are my best hope.

“And what are you doing here?”

“Looking for an heir to adopt.”

“I see. You haven’t, by any chance—and this will likely sound like a strange question—seen several hundred children in these woods? There are some renegade Wives-in-training…”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Ah. Well, here’s my card. If you do see them-“

“I’ll give you a call right away.”

That strange, polite encounter finished, the man drives away… or at least starts up the car.

Just as I hear the sound of a little girl sneezing.

Her face peeks out, horrified. She’s a little blonde cherub, eyes bright blue, but her skin is pale with terror. She looks at me… and then at the man. Who turns around, as the other kids peek out of their hiding places.

I know what to do.

I draw my gun, and fire four shots.

The tires explode with a clang that has probably woken every person in the slums. The children swarm the crippled vehicle, tugging their would-be kidnapper out of his seat, taking his gun, and leaving him half-stunned on the road.

And then we run.

The sun is coming up as we reach the base.

Aleina is waiting for us. She stares.

“You didn’t think we could do it,” I say in a low voice. Almost accusatory, but I’m too tired for that.

“No. I didn’t think you could do it. I just wanted you out of my way.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, in the 36 hours you’ve been gone, there have been some changes around here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Gentlemen, you are addressing the President of the United States.”

“ _What?”_

“Coup d’Etat. The Bastards won. And now I’m in charge.”

There’s a moment of disbelief.

“Your father is inside. Safe. This building is going to be preserved as a sort of museum, but if you’d like, I can go ahead and set up some rooms for you in my new palace.”

“And the children?” Dean whispers.

“The women who’d been caring for them will come out of hiding when they hear the news. I have a building set aside to be used as an orphanage.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “I never thought they’d make it out alive. Tabitha is an old friend, and I did it for her, but…”

“We understand.”

We shepherd the little ones inside, keeping a careful headcount. There are three hundred and sixteen of them

We saved three hundred and sixteen lives.

Exhausted, relieved, we fall into each others’ arms. 

[ Epilogue](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/14295.html)

 


	7. My Brother's Keeper -- Epilogue

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**My Brother's Keeper -- Epilogue**   
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[Chapter Five ](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/13964.html)

 

Dad says to me, “Sam.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need to see you in my office.”

I follow him down the hallway, trying to curb my adolescent resentment that he still thinks he can order me around this easily. He almost certainly has something important to say to me. Aleina keeps him pretty busy with hunting jobs. The others resent having a Legitimate around enough that she has to.

“Sit down.”

I sit stiffly in the green leather chair in front of his long desk. He never had much of a taste for luxury when I was growing up, but now he appears to have embraced it. He says it feels a little better when anyone could have it.

“Son. There’s something… there’s something I ought to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“You and… you and Dean. I know you boys are… well. Wed. But there’s something that… something important.”

“What is it?”

“He’s your brother.”

“I used to think of him that way too, Dad. When we were kids. But we grew up, and…”

He cuts me off. “No. He’s your real, honest brother, Sam. Your flesh and blood. Your mother and I… we fell in love when we were just kids. Before I had the kind of money to get Wed. I got her pregnant, and… and she sold Dean to the government, to be trained as a Wife, on the condition that he’d get sent back to us, that we could raise him. So…”

I stand furiously. “So you let him go, just like that?”

“What?”

“You let them take him away. Mom was dead, right? Couldn’t get mad at you for selling off her kid. And I was gone, I wasn’t there to fight you on it. So it didn’t really matter to you. You just let them… you didn’t fight. You didn’t offer them money. You didn’t let him run or try to save him or…”

“Sam. When your mother was being trained, it was different. She didn’t… they didn’t hurt her. It was more a list of rules. Now, it’s getting more and more formal, and I didn’t know that. I didn’t know what they’d do to him.”

“Bullshit. That’s fucking bullshit.”

“Samuel, don’t you use that kind of language to me. I’m still your father-“

“No. I don’t give a damn who you are, because you have no right. _No right_ to bring me here and start telling me what I do is wrong, what Dean and I have is wrong. Because what you did? That’s so much worse. So much worse! You… you might as well have raped him yourself.”

“Sammy,” Dad whispers, and I regret the words immediately. I can see he’s close to tears and that… that’s really saying something.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you’re right. I was… I was selfish, and wrong, to… to not tell you. I should’ve… but I didn’t. I didn’t save my own son. And I wish I had, Sammy.”

I turn back to him. “I shouldn’t have said that to you, either. It’s not true.”

“I hope you really believe that.” He sighs. “But… tell your brother, would you? You’re right. I can’t stop you boys… but… but he has a right to know.”

“I tell Dean everything,” I assure him. “Even this.”

“And… Sam. I don’t… I’m not going to try and ruin your life, but I don’t have to like that you two are… that you…”

I nod curtly. “I know you won’t.”

“All right. I’ll let you go now, son.”

“Bye, Dad. Good luck with the vampires.”

“Thanks.”

I leave his office, returning to my own. Dean is poring over a stack of old books. “You know, there’s this fascinating ritual from-“

I smile at him.

I was always the bookworm when we were little, but Dean has been taking more of an interest lately. He and I help with the kids sometimes, the hundreds of Bastard children whose parents couldn’t be found after they were freed. Dean is infinitely gentle with them. I know he sees his own scars in those sweet little faces, and he does his best to heal them.

It’s beautiful.

“Come here,” I whisper, and he stands, tangling his hand through mine.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?”

“Dad said…”

“What?”

I hesitate.

There’s a chance… a small chance… that this means he’ll never want to… that we’ll never be able to make love again. Knowing Dean, he might object to it. He’d probably think he was taking advantage of me.

“He told me something. And… I mean, you have a right to know, of course. But…” I can’t help but wrap my arms around him. I can’t look at him as I say this. I just need to hold him, need to feel him there, in my arms… even if it’s only for a minute, for this very last time. “We’re brothers. Biological brothers. Mary was your mom, and John is your dad. It was before Mary could be Wed… I’m…”

Dean pulls away from me.

“I want you to know. It doesn’t… it doesn’t matter to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still love you.”

“It’s wrong, Sammy.”

“Why?” I demand quietly. “If we both want to, why?”

“Because.”

“You didn’t think it was wrong when you were barely able to speak, let alone really consent.”

“But you didn’t touch me, Sammy. And I’m not going to touch you now.”

“Dean.”

“No. Nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”

“What about something I do?” I grin and press my hips against his so he can feel the weight of my body.

“No,” he says, more strained this time.

I kiss his neck open-mouthed.

“Don’t, Sammy. Please. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I…”

“Six months ago we wouldn’t have been legally recognized as relatives anyway. Just because there’s been a change in government, this is suddenly wrong?”

“It would have been wrong no matter what.”

“And if I told you this six months ago?”

He sighs.

He knows the truth.

He wouldn’t have said no, then. He would have just nodded and looked down at the ground and said, “Very good, my Lord.”

I hate having to bring that up. The memory of it twists my stomach, but it’s the only ammunition I have.

“Can’t you see that it doesn’t matter to me? What they did to you or all those years apart, nothing’s ever mattered except you and me?”

“Sammy…” but this time it’s more of a moan than a protest.

“Kiss me,” I demand. “Don’t let this matter to you, Dean. Don’t let it take away the only thing we’ve got.”

And, doubt fading from his eyes, he does.

 


End file.
